


sharp words splintering the night

by flowersforgraves



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crying, Impact Play, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforgraves/pseuds/flowersforgraves
Summary: Shortly after Jon finds out about the Entities, he confronts Elias, which turns into a kinky nonsexual play session.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	sharp words splintering the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelit/gifts).



> Title nicked from [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=noPDuWMCyoQ)
> 
> Much thanks to ba_lailah for the beta.

Jon slams the door to Elias' office open angrily, ready for a confrontation.

"Hello, Jon," Elias says, voice irritatingly calm. He doesn't look the least bit perturbed at Jon's interruption, and he even smiles when Jon marches up to the desk and leans on it.

"What the fuck," Jon says.

Elias raises an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Jurgen Leitner was in the tunnels under the Archives and you didn't tell me?" Jon is fuming, hands clenched into fists. "There are fourteen fundamental forces that are trying to control all of human existence, and this is where one of them lives, and you didn't tell me?"

Elias shrugs, looking back down at his paperwork. "That's not precisely true. I didn’t know anything about Leitner being in the tunnels at all, actually. If you must blame me, don’t bring him into it. But no, I didn't tell you about the Entities. You would have found out eventually. You are the Archivist, after all."

Jon can practically hear the capital letter of the title, and resents it. "And you didn't tell me because...?"

"Would you have believed me?" Elias asks. “That’s quite a thing to spring on someone, wouldn’t you say?”

That takes some of the righteous wind out of Jon's sails. "I... I suppose not," he says. "But, Elias, we were close. I trusted you." It's not enough to hide the bitterness in his voice, but it helps.

"And I trust you as well, Archivist," Elias says, still calm, and again with the name as a title. "That's exactly why I chose you to replace Gertrude. I needed someone I could trust, and someone who could do the things that were necessary. You were both of those things. Still are, too."

Jon tries not to be mollified, with only partial success. "Elias. Is there anything else you're not telling me? Anything else potentially life-changing? Even if you think I won't believe you?"

Elias sets a manila folder down on his desk, opens a drawer to put another stack of files in, then stands up to look at Jon. "No. That was the big secret. We serve the Eye, Jon, the Ceaseless Watcher. No, don't give me that look." Elias holds a hand up to forestall Jon’s protests; he’d already drawn in a breath ready to argue. "We both serve it, whether you want to or not. It sees everything, and it is our job to help it."

Jon takes a deep breath, lets it out. Takes a breath in, lets it out. Takes a breath in, lets it out. It won’t do to be so angry his voice shakes, especially not now that he’s calmed down enough to notice it in himself. "Elias," he says finally, once he is sure his voice is steady, "you understand that I can't take you at your word any more."

"Yes, you can," Elias says. “You just don’t want to. Which I understand, but it’s not what either of us needs to happen right now.” He sighs, slipping out of his Head of the Institute persona and into the more relaxed version of himself that Jon’s gotten to know. "Jon. Let's go take care of some business together. Then we can discuss it."

Taking care of some business is probably the politest way for Elias to offer to beat the crap out of Jon in a non-sexual but very kinky way. They've done it before -- Jon likes the power exchange dynamic, and Elias gets off on it, and it doesn't really matter which of them is getting hit. But Jon's not sure he wants to do that just yet, with the sting of Elias' lie of omission still so fresh.

"Buy me dinner first," Jon says, because at the very least he's going to vindictively cost Elias a kebab plate. "Then we'll see. I think I’d really rather be the one punishing you."

Elias nods, silent agreement surprising Jon. Though, he supposes, Elias realizes how betrayed Jon must feel, and while this won't soften the blow, it will at least make reconciliation easier. Jon clenches his jaw, and thinks about manipulation, and thinks about how much he would like to hear the slap of his palm against Elias’ face. 

"Where do you want to go?" Elias steps out from behind the desk, gathering his long duster and hat. "My treat."

Jon trails after him out of the office, and directs Elias to a little shop on a corner not far from the Institute. "Their lamb is very good, I hear," he says, as a grudging peace offering.

"I'll try that, then," Elias says, accepting it wholeheartedly, rather than in the spirit in which it was offered.

Their food comes quickly, and despite his lack of conscious appetite, Jon's stomach growls as he smells the kebabs. He grabs both the paper bags, and leads Elias out the door and around the corner to a quiet little table.

"Your place or mine?" Elias is smiling, lips quirked in amusement at the stereotypical phrase, and Jon thinks again about the sound his open palm would make while he slaps the smile off of Elias.

He doesn't slap Elias, but neither does he dignify that with a response, instead digging into his meal. It's only when he gets halfway through that he realizes Elias hasn't touched his own dinner. "What?" he asks, some of the gruffness taken off the edge of his voice.

Elias tips his head to the side. "I'm thinking about getting an electric paddle out," he says. “Once you realize that I’m the one who should be in control tonight.”

Jon nearly chokes on a sip of soda. "What?"

"You heard me," Elias says, and this time the smile is gentle, and Jon doesn't know what to do with it. "You aren’t going to feel better if you hit me. Maybe for a few seconds, but it’s not going to do anything to fix things. Let me help you, Jon. Trust me for this, at least.”

Jon narrows his eyes and stands up without replying, but Elias’ smile grows more genuine somehow, as if he can tell what Jon’s going to decide even without Jon telling him. It’s not as unsettling as he’d thought.

The walk to Elias' flat is not unpleasant. The air is thick with humidity, but the lateness of the hour takes away the worst of the heat. The bustling noise of the city is appropriately loud for rush hour, but not unbearable. If Jon didn’t know better -- and he does -- he’d think of this as a picturesque perfect evening. Jon tries not to let his mind wander, but it's difficult to keep his thoughts away from Leitner's dead body and Smirke's list of fourteen entities.

Before Jon can register it, he and Elias are standing outside the door, and Elias is fiddling with a key. The front entryway has a watchful statue of a dog with its ears alert, and Jon feels a swell of bitterness as he's reminded of Elias' position in the Institute.

"Get on your knees," Elias orders, gesturing Jon to the center of his carpeted sitting room.

Jon takes a second to remove his shoes, but goes without protest. Usually Elias likes to make Jon watch him prepare whatever tools he's going to use, but tonight he disappears into the bedroom instead.

Jon waits, patiently counting backwards from one hundred. At forty-three, Elias reappears, holding a leather strap in one hand and a paddle in the other. "Look at me, Jon."

He makes a reasonable effort to look Elias in the eye before letting his gaze wander to the bookshelves nearby. Now that he knows more about Elias, he looks around the room with a keen gaze, wondering which of the objects he's familiar with holds deeper meaning.

Elias smacks him lightly on the back with the paddle. "Pay attention to me, Jon."

Jon unwillingly drags his eyes away from the porcelain lamb that serves as a bookend for Elias' dictionary and thesaurus. "Yes, Elias."

"Shirt on or off?" Elias asks, still holding Jon's gaze. This question is loaded, in more ways than one: if Jon refuses, Elias won't hit him as hard, but also Jon doesn't know if he wants to quite literally expose himself to Elias right now.

"Off," he says, surprising himself. But if he’s going to make the effort to trust Elias again, he might as well go all in. He unbuttons his shirt from the top down, then shrugs out of the sleeves. Elias looks him up and down, which doesn't make his skin crawl like he'd feared.

"I want you to count for me, Jon," Elias says, when he's done looking at Jon like he hasn't eaten in days. "Every time I hit you, you need to tell me the number of times I've struck you."

Jon nods. "Understood." Then he yelps, because even as he agreed, Elias had started to swing the leather strap. It catches him on the shoulder, not hard enough to leave a lasting mark but still leaving a reddened, stinging patch of skin. "One."

Elias nods. "Good." He hits Jon again, harder; this one will probably bruise.

"Two," Jon says, gritting his teeth. "Is that all you've got?" Taunting Elias is probably unwise, but Jon is feeling reckless and stupid tonight, and he's never been terribly restrained in his opinions.

It pays off in the form of a sharp pulse of electricity across his shoulders. "Three!" he exclaims, more shock than pain.

Elias laughs, low in his throat. It's smug, and Jon hates it almost as much as he hates that Elias knows him and what he needs so well. "That better?" he asks, and shocks Jon again.

"Four," Jon says, and feels himself start to relax into the pain. It helps him focus when he needs to, but right now he needs to get some distance from his emotions, and he desperately needs Elias' help with that. Every time Elias hits him, he can feel some of the emotions knotted in his chest dissolve, relieving some of the horrible tension.

"Five," and Elias leaves another stinging bruise on his back with the leather strap. He runs his finger over it after Jon counts, and it makes Jon suck in a breath between his teeth. The pain is good, and it feels solid.

Six is another strike with the paddle. As much as Jon is loath to admit it, Elias was almost certainly right about the electrostimulation. It's a sharper, deeper kind of pain than the leather strap, and it makes his senses sharpen too, somehow.

Seven, eight, and nine all come from the leather. Jon's going to be sore tomorrow morning, a grounding reminder of his body. Ten and eleven are the paddle, and on eleven Jon swears the paddle's light shock has been turned up higher.

"Lie down," Elias tells him.

It takes a second to process that, but Jon falls forward so that he's lying down on the floor. Elias kneels down himself, and examines the marks on Jon's back, poking and prodding. He smacks Jon with the paddle again, twelve, and again, thirteen, and again, fourteen, and Jon's breath hitches.

"That's all," Elias says, filtering through Jon's dizzy consciousness. "Jon?"

He tastes salt, which is weird. Carpet shouldn't be salty, and especially not Elias' carpet, which Jon has been face down on before and probably will be again. Elias grips his shoulder, turning his face up and rolling Jon onto his side.

"When did you start crying?" Elias asks gently, which is a very stupid question, in Jon's opinion, because he isn't crying. He'd definitely know if he was crying.

But Elias is wiping wetness off of Jon's face, and that's definitely not from the carpet.

"I don't know," Jon says, and hiccups a sob. "I don't know, Elias, I don't know."

Elias gathers him into his arms, dropping both the paddle and the strap. "It's alright, Jon, it's alright. Shh. Let me tell you a few things about the Ceaseless Watcher, alright? Don't worry about what you do or don't know."

Jon sobs into Elias' button down shirt, already stained with sweat, and doesn't have the words to explain why, exactly, he's crying.

Elias pulls him up onto the couch, covers Jon with his own discarded shirt, and says, "How much do you know about Jonah Magnus, the founder of our illustrious Institute?"


End file.
